Benvolio's Eyes Do Not Lie
by CagedFreedom
Summary: A journal of responses in which Benvolio allows himself to honestly account for his experiences during Shakespeare's 'Romeo and Juliet'. [A school project that I was required to do this past year. I haven't altered it at all since and it has been written to fulfil the critera given. Respectful critism is appreciated as this is my first story on the site!]
1. July 9th

Sunday, July 9th, 1347

As much as I'd hate to admit such a thing, there are times, days even, when I resent my status as an elevated member of the Montague family. For merely writing this I could be condemned for my treason by my own uncle, yet my words are undeniably true. I hate to sound as I do here, pitiful and weak, but it seems that the simple giving of my name has weighted my shoulders with so much responsibility. I am, after all, expected to promote the image of Montagues just as dear Romeo and his father are. It is a responsibility, however, that I do not want or, rather, one that I wish had no need for existing. If Capulets were not Capulets and Motagues not Montagues it seems that life would adopt a more placid means of being and, with the elimination of this distinction between us, many of my current woes would disappear.

Though I now speak solely of peace, I cannot deny my instinctual hatred of the Capulets. I was raised to look down on them, to hate those from the house of Capulet without a second thought, yet my upbringing does not excuse my presence in the constantly burning feud among us. Tybalt, the nephew to Old Capulet, is one of the few who I feel justified in being angry with. Arrogant and oblivious, Tybalt is a disgrace that, unfortunately, has built a life in fair Verona, where I have built mine. This day in our town was one birthed of chaos, lodging itself in my brain as one full of events and regrets to accompany them. To begin it all, I was greeted in the market this morning by an already fiery conflict. And from whose mouths did this conflict pour? Of course, it was from those of the Capulets. Please excuse my accusation here, but I know Abram and he is not one to begin a fight. A very civil fellow he is. Regardless, swords were being swept through the air without abandon and there was certain to be any number of casualties if one was not to have stepped in. After having drawn my own weapon and shouting of my will, I was greeted by he who I detest most in this world; Tybalt. The saucy young man thought himself fit to challenge me, he thought it acceptable to tempt me into continuing the fight. I, however, wanted nothing more than for this quarrel to cease, the opposite of which ended up playing out before my conflicted eyes. The battle lasted for little more than a few minutes though, as our beloved Prince was swift to calm the masses with one or more threatening words. To simplify, the next man to brawl with another on our streets is to be put to death and I do not want to be that man.

On a different note, Romeo and his emotions seem to grow more complex by the very second. After suffering through the fray this morning, I was bid by Lord and Lady Montague, as well as my own curiosity, to seek truth in Romeo's occasional guarded words. He really is the equivalent of a puzzle with a vital missing piece; sad and impossible to comprehend until complete. I know, in my heart, that his once beloved Rosaline had never been the solution to any of Romeo's troubles but, on the contrary, was the creator of many new ones. Alas, poor Romeo! Damned by the lady of his fancy to a life out of her favour! Yet this night I've just experienced, this day almost at its end, has sent a fresh wave of hope for my cousin surging through my veins, hope for all of Verona as well if activities witnessed tonight continue. At the party of Lord Capulet that Mercutio, Romeo, and I so cleverly infiltrated, I caught Romeo hand to hand with the daughter of the party's host. Juliet, I believe her name is, seems to have my Romeo in the palm of her hand already. As they danced, I continued to watch, noting the way Romeo's eyes glistened with life that has, for so long, been absent. Some might call him fickle for such a spontaneous fall back into the pit of love with another woman, but have a different notion on the topic: love at first sight. Much to my regret, a different lady caught my eye and, for less than a moment, I allowed myself a short look in her direction. She wasbeautiful, that much I couldn't deny. However, when my eyes returned to where Romeo and his Juliet had been, I was disappointed to find that they had gone. Most likely, they were off to be alone. I have yet to see him again on this night. Oh Romeo, he who is always consumed by the promising word of a lady. The most I can say is that I pray this love to be a true one on both sides of the pairing for I hope not to see dear Romeo as distant as he was after barely enduring the denial of Rosaline.

Of a busy day full of busy thoughts, one overpowers all else: this day holds, within its deepest confines, my very future. Written out with the rise and set of our glorious sun, this future could predict one of two lives for me; one that swell with promise or one that I would rather die than face. For now, however, I must bid you good night for as the hour grows later my candle burns fainter.

Until we next meet,

Benvolio Montague


	2. July 10th

Monday, July 10th, 1347 – Afternoon

Though the hours of sunlight are sure to last much longer on this relentless day of heated summer, I simply cannot resist the urge I have to tell you of my unexpected experiences late last night. I fear that if I continue to put off the process of detailing this entry I may forget much of what is truly important. Before I begin though, I'd like you to please forgive me for not actually taking the time to write of this last night. By the time I returned to my chambers after having seen what I'd seen, I was merely just too fatigued to light another candle and open this book.

I did not say anything of this yesterday, but after Romeo's disappearance at Lord Capulet's party and after good Mercutio and I had had enough of the night's revels, we had stumbled down the streets of our town in search of our friend. I regret this now, for I know where he had been and I know how much of nuisance we must have been to him there. You see, after having failed to find him, Mercutio and I had agreed to simply return to our bedchambers until the next morning, our plan being to question Romeo then. However, after having finished writing to you I made a foolish attempt to consummate our agreement and settle into bed. I, of all people, should have known that the unexplained absence of Romeo would remove all traces of sleep within me. Much like I have on previous nights where sleep has been unsuccessful in its search for my compliance, I decided to go for a walk. As I said, I've done this before and it has proven itself to be a useful tactic in the field of figuring things out while calming my mind. Anyway, on this night I set off in the direction of Verona's centre feeling less at ease than I usually do. Unconsciously, I eyed the shadows, half-expecting to find monsters or other beings of the like lurking there. It was unusual, fear provoking really, that things should be so different so suddenly. Regardless, I had continued only to find myself walking along a lane near Lord Capulet's home and subjected to words, hissed over a great distance. It was late and curiosity got the best of me, for one of the voices I'd heard was one that I knew and one that I knew well. Romeo, of course it was Romeo. Here I was, listening to Romeo and Juliet's romantic banter, and all I could bring myself to ponder was exactly how my cousin had managed to vault the wall that separated us, the wall that kept me from getting closer and hearing more. I missed much of their conversation due to words getting lost on air and my abrupt and irrationally weary mind, but what I gathered was this: Romeo has intention to spend the rest of his life with his enemy. I'm unsure exactly how this makes me feel. The part of my body that is ruled by my heart says to be happy for him and to have hope that their love will change the routine of the feud between Capulet and Montague. My mind, however, snarls that such a romance is futile and dangerous. Either way a high risk is run, like a tightrope over the deepest of chasms, even the slightest mistake could cause either, Romeo or Juliet, to fall to their deaths, causing chaos the whole way down.

This morning, as a result of my concern for Romeo that was left untamed, I was burdened with the task of finding him and, during the search, struggling for the right words to say to him. It seems that lately he's been a fool for love and I am uncertain of how to address that. My hunt was one soon deemed unsuccessful though, for I heard word that some had seen Romeo dashing off to Friar Laurence in the early hours of this day. I can only speculate about what he might have been doing there, but I have a fairly profound assumption.

To make matters worse, if Romeo is, in fact, inquiring about what I think he is inquiring about by visiting the Friar, Juliet's cousin, the much hated Tybalt, has sent word that he intends to duel with Romeo. Mercutio is sceptical of Romeo's chances should he accept and, though I am hesitant to doubt my cousin, I think I agree with Mercutio's reasoning. Romeo hasn't been practicing his battle skills at all since he began to mope about Rosaline and now, with Juliet to keep him occupied, I don't think he will resume his practices. This, along with the fact that Tybalt would be furious if Juliet happened to wed his enemy, succeeds in doing nothing but increasing my worry for my friend. I'd like to see him happy again, but fate seems to always step in his way and make such feelings impossible.

To conclude this first half of my day, filled to the brim with activity and mystery, some good-natured amusement seemed to be in order. To grant my silent wishes, and in some respects my pleas, Mercutio was able to put on quite a show with a lady of the Capulet house, Juliet's nurse I believe. Oh and what fun it was to see spirits lifted! Mercutio's jokes were worthy of nothing more than a gutter, but comical nonetheless. I did feel a little bad after though, for the nurse seemed to be quite upset as she and Romeo stepped aside. What that duo had to discuss was not something mentioned explicitly to me, but paired with Romeo's supposed visit to the Friar this morning and his time spent with Juliet last night it is, again, not hard to guess.

Well, as I hope you can see, life has grown no easier in the time we've spent apart and it is nearly guaranteed to remain that way in the future for the times we will meet again. Though I am still consumed with worry I can' help but try to be optimistic. Perhaps things will work out for our intrepid hero and his potential bride. However I suppose that, in order to be on the receiving end of any satisfaction, I must be patient. Time will quicken for no man.

I will return to you soon, I promise,

Benvolio Montague


	3. July 11th

Tuesday, July, 11th 1347 – Morning

Today and the one that preceded it are undeniably worthy of even the boldest man's tears, brimming with a sorrow powerful enough to give me reason to believe I will be incapable of ever writing of happiness again, let alone feeling it. The golden orb that is our sun has yet to rise on this new day and dawn has ceased to grace us. However, I have not yet slept. Each time I come close to this utopian escape, the sights and emotions of the sunlight hours, as well as my own constant state of worry, assault me again, burning my closed lids and forcing them open. I may not have fully spoke my claim to this prediction before, but Romeo and what I suppose to be his love affair have sprung horror, confusion and superfluous rivalry on our city streets. I know that I sound bitter now, but that emotion reflects clearly my thoughts on the past hours at this time. Forgive me, I beg you, I am not usually this impulsive of a person.

This ill-fated 24 hours began with Mercutio and I wandering the city streets, Mercutio with confidence while I strode with a more timid aura. I knew, I _knew_ that the Capulets would eventually approach us, just as well as I knew that they were there in city centre, looming over us with an unspoken threat. To confirm that which my instincts had already told me, Tybalt and his followers eventually broke from their resting place and sauntered over to us. It is indescribably difficult for me to write of this now, considering the results of the fray that followed Tybalt's advance and the consequences that accompanied them. Mercutio, stubborn valiant Mercutio was not one to tolerate Tybalt's arrogance, nor was he one to turn down an opportunity for a fight. After much foolish banter between the two as well as an attempt, given by Tybalt, to engage Romeo upon his arrival, good Mercutio and vile Tybalt began to exchange blows. By the unintentional fault of Romeo, Mercutio was struck and killed, but death waited for him while he said his good-byes. Of course, Romeo, the other Montagues, the Capulets, and even I were oblivious to the severity of Mercutio's wound and the good-byes seemed to be nothing more than playful worded spars. Never hesitant to make a mockery of anything, Mercutio had us all fooled. He died a man of honour but, also a death that could have been prevented. Shame colours my heart for not having confided in my friend just how much he truly meant to me. However, his death was one avenged by Romeo. Lost to the fury of losing Mercutio as a result of his own actions, my cousin engaged in a battle he should not have been prepared for. However, anger can make a man conform to strange standards and Romeo was, inexplicably, successful in his battle with Tybalt, defeating him in a short time and with apparent ease. Though Romeo's hands were then coated in blood and he, singled out as one marked for execution, I could not help but be the slightest bit glad that he had gained the courage and will to prove himself as having cared for his fallen comrade. I managed to push through both my grief and my gratitude at the same time, finding words only because they were needed. "Romeo," I had said, "Away be gone!" I was all too aware that if he didn't move immediately Mercutio wouldn't be my only companion lost that day. To my immense appreciation, he withdrew after only a few brief words and, by my guess, made toward the Friar's cell. It is strange to think that he had been there no more than 24 hours before, jubilant and carefree, quite possibly arranging his marriage to Juliet. I not yet ceased to be uninformed. I wish Mercutio were with me still; he'd know what to say to Romeo, he'd be certain of how to get him to spill the truth.

That afternoon, scarcely two minutes past the time of Romeo's departure, chaos shook within the bowels of Verona. Citizens took to the streets, furious over either Tybalt's or Mercutio's death or, perhaps, furious over the fully aroused feud they were witnessing because of them. With our city gathered and the Prince present I realized that all requests for an explanation would be directed toward me. Again, I was deemed the one responsible for many others' fates. Quickly, an instant before the Prince addressed the crowd, myself included, I was able to formulate a string of words to be used to place blame and determine innocence. I spoke, declaring openly the details of the brawl as seen by my true eyes and, to my utmost surprise, my voice did not waver with nerves, fear, or any other emotion. Yet this unforeseen strength in my voice was ignored and it was Lady Capulet who contradicted me. She claimed that I stood for Romeo simply because I, too, was a Montague and it was my loyalty that brought me to say what I did. This minor discrepancy between her and I was quickly silenced by Escalus and his verdict on Romeo's fate. Better than death but worse than freedom, Romeo has been sentenced to exile. I knew not of how he would interpret this news, whether he would be grateful for the lenience or distraught over being torn from his home and those he loves here. At that time, I could merely hope that he received word of his revised punishment and how he was to be allowed to live.

The Friar later informed me that Romeo had, in fact, heard word of his punishment and, after much resistance, agreed to heed its conditions. He also told me of how Romeo and Juliet had been married the day before, in accordance to my suspicions that I had stated prior to his confession. Though I'd been subject to many doubts, it seemed that his being married was a thing of destiny for Romeo and it appeared that those where the Friar's thoughts as well. True love is, after all, quite noticeable when you know where to look. I cannot say that I am angry with Romeo for his secrecy around this whole occurrence, for if I had been in his place I would've trusted no one. This, however, does not mean I am not hurt by his silence. Regardless, the Friar was quite a help to me yesterday and I am solemnly grateful for that, despite the fact that I sensed he had withheld something at the time. It may have been something minor that he'd so carefully left out, such as the how the married couple planned to spend their forbidden wedding night but my sharpened intuition tells me otherwise. Something big is happening. I can feel it.

I am not a natural born eavesdropper but these past few days have established themselves as anything but natural. With relationships, statuses, and minds changing by the second words have often been uttered too loudly for private conversations and I have been fortunate to pick up on many of them. After my visit with the Friar, I was subjected to a very unsettling conversation between one of the Prince's kinsmen and a servant of the house of Capulet. You see, the pair spoke of a union between Romeo's Juliet and the Prince's Paris. Unsettling indeed after what the Friar had told me of dear Romeo and Juliet's romance. Not making immediate assumptions was becoming increasingly difficult for me and on impulse I found myself hating Juliet upon hearing of this. She was already married, that flirt-gill! Juliet was dealing double with my cousin by agreeing to marry this other man, no matter how prestigious he is! Why, I had thought, she is nothing but unfaithful. However, as I continued to listen I was rewarded with the knowledge and satisfaction of hearing about how the marriage surfaced in a sea of mixed thoughts. Apparently Lord Capulet, who must still be as oblivious as I once was, arranged it. Foolish man! Does he not know that, despite Romeo's exile, his and Juliet's amalgamation could result in the end of our trials? I suppose the sleazy Lord of the Capulets must've seen this as a shining opportunity to surpass my uncle in the eyes of our Prince. That man's mind is equal to his appearance, vile and ugly.

Though my conversation with the Friar eased some reminders of relaxation back into my veins, the knowledge of this plot caused the fact stated at the beginning of his entry to remain true; I still have not slept. I am confined within walls built up of my own apprehension and anxiety and, as I discovered this morning, a walk will not help with this. It is bigger now that I am informed; less misguided but more consuming. I feel so useless; as though I cannot give aid to anything I see or touch or have feelings for. It's perplexing, impossible, this situation. Ah, I have diverged from my point or, rather, what it was that I hoped to say here. During my attempt to clear my mind, the walk that I had taken just before returning to write this, I was interrupted by the sounds of a dramatic good-bye. Much like the night that seems as though it took place years ago instead of just mere days, I heard hushed voices drifting over the walls of the Capulet's mansion. Romeo and Juliet, the star struck lovers, were bidding each other fond but wounded farewells. Though I could only hear their voices, and even those where difficult to detect, it was obvious that time was of the essence but their hesitation came from the abundance of their true love. They didn't want to say good-bye. After several moments, however, I heard the anxious clicking of a horse's hooves and a final adieu from one of the two, heartbroken as they parted. Without anything more, Romeo was gone and I left to live constantly in this mystery he left for me.

I again ask that you forgive me for the inconsistency of this day's documentation. As you have seen, it has been anything but easy for me to experience it first hand, let alone relive it by way of writing. It almost seems that I have learned too much, said too much, and forgotten too much already in just this short time. So again, I beg you for your forgiveness.

We will interact again soon, of that you must not doubt.

Benvolio Montague


	4. July 12th

Wednesday, July, 12th 1347– Afternoon

People tend to say that unpleasant situations are eternally capable of improvement, yet I feel as though mine is destined to be the one to break this statement of its accuracy. Suddenly, it is I who stands alone in this battle and, to my eyes, it seems as though many fates depend on what I chose to do with this responsibility. I fear that my being will not be enough to transform the thoughts, opinions, and wills of others, that my efforts will simply be ignored and my very purpose in this chapter of my life will cease to exist. I never wanted this responsibility. I did not ask to be Lord Montague's nephew; in fact I didn't ask to be a Montague at all. I just cannot bear the idea of my own failure, particularly if it would damage not only me, but the entirety of Verona as well.

It was made blatantly evident that the Capulets were preparing for some kind of an event and, after hearing what I'd heard, I was fully aware that this was a wedding celebration they were rushing to put together. Juliet Capulet and Paris were to be united on Thursday, but this date was changed promptly due to an unspoken demand for a happy occasion to grace our city's people. Today was supposed to be joyous yet as it wore on it proved itself as being worthy of no such emotion. Regardless, it had and still pains me to know that Romeo is likely to be and remain oblivious to this act of dishonour and, being exiled as he is, even if he had known he would've been unable to cease the planning and defend himself. However, at that time I found myself still incapable of determining whether or not Juliet was honestly consented to this fate she had chosen for her. It was, after all, possible that her submission to a second marriage was nothing more than an act and my instincts had told me to be relentlessly suspicious of such a scheme. As I've said before these circumstances have been made consistently bigger with each of my well-deserved discoveries. The fact that I hadn't even caught a glimpse of Juliet since Romeo departed was one that specifically irritated me. Had she run off? Died? Well, these questions became riddles for me to solve, some of which I've actually given answer to in the past several hours.

You see, I am sufficiently more intelligent than others tend to expect and, upon further thought of Juliet's unexplained absence, I had immediately begun the process of conjuring a course of action to see her again, perhaps even speak with her. By doing this I hoped to both confirm that she was still living and, preferably, living adequately, as well as to make an attempt at gaining more information on this predicament she'd helped to cause. Therefore, my day today began early, prior to dawn shattering the dark shade of night that cloaked our land. As I strode calmly down the silent streets I was vaguely reminded of the last time I'd wasted the night in the same fashion, just a mere 72 hours ago. It was then when I'd first held insight as to how Romeo planned to devote the rest of his life to the girl from the party. It had been that night when all of our current troubles had sprung into existence. With these thoughts clouding my head, time evaded me and I found myself at the wall to the Capulet orchard sooner than I'd expected to. The barrier was a mighty thing, raised from the ground as though it were the sturdiest of trees growing aimlessly where it was needed, fearless and nonchalant. Love, however, had conquered this wall once and now I was about to force that miracle to repeat itself. Romeo was and is still equivalent to a blood brother in my eyes and I would do anything for him, even if it means risking my own hide. My faith in both Romeo and destiny was soon gratefully rewarded and, inexplicably, I cleared the wall only to find myself among the fruit bearing growth of Lord Capulet's orchard. Once within the confines of the house of Capulet, I could only pray that I would not be caught. As quickly as I felt confident while still minding the idea of stealth, I crept throughout the maze of trees. I knew Juliet's room could not be far for just three days earlier I had heard, with my own ears, hers and Romeo's hushed conversation. As if in accordance to my knowledge, it was not long before I caught sight of a reassuring balcony. Though the outcropping may not have belonged to Juliet herself, it provided a much-needed means by which to enter the building undetected. With a nearly animalistic sense of caution, I picked my way over to the base of the wall on which the balcony jutted from and paused a moment to assess the best course I could take to scale the ivy covered stone. Then, without a further thought to my welfare, I began to climb. I am not particularly athletic but it seems as though that vertical stretch had been designed specifically to ascend and I reached the top with little difficulty. Hoisting myself over the edge I was greeted only by a continuation of the silence, disturbed by gentle breaths birthed of my own mouth and exertion. My head swivelled, eyes following the movement and extending it with both curiosity and tension. There was nothing to be heard, nothing to be seen, and certainly no hints as to exactly whose space I had just invaded. Tentatively, I had taken a step forward, instructing several more to follow until I was distinctly inside of the chamber the balcony led to. Everything was still, as though it were a painting I was looking at as opposed to a room that was unnoticeably alive, and in that moment I knew there was something wrong with this silence surrounding me. Again I had stepped forward, peering toward the door briefly before turning my gaze to the bed. It was a mistake I wish I hadn't made for there, sprawled on the exposed sheets, was the third dead body I had seen in the short time of two days. Juliet lay stiffly, no longer troubled by the activities of the still whirling world around her and as beautiful as a small, crimson tinted angel. I couldn't look while at the same time I couldn't look away. Romeo would be devastated if he managed to find out and, momentarily, I almost thought it best that he never did. I had to leave. I had to remove myself from this pit of despair that others were sure to step into any moment. I'd be blamed if I didn't turn away. And so I did. Out through the still open door, down the patchwork of vine and stone, over the wall that had been hesitant to warn me of what I might find inside, and finally back to my own home. As I faltered my way through my own doors I now recall cursing my curiosity for, in this instance, it really did slaughter all that remained of hope in my soul.

After my plan had been foiled, determined utterly futile by the invisible devil of death, I had wallowed in the reoccurring bouts of intense pain, alone and hidden in the depths of my chamber. I could not imagine what Romeo would feel when he learned of Juliet's demise when I, one who never even truly knew her, felt already so broken by it. I had adopted the persona of death; unforgiving and unceasingly hungry for a relief I knew I would never receive. I was one constantly walking along the same path; forever fixated on the idea that eventually something new would begin to change my destination. I was so perplexed, so alone that it hurt.

It took but an hour or so for her wedding to shift to a funeral and, as I watched the body that once caged Juliet being lowering into the ground, I pondered the suggestion of accurate happiness. Death is inevitable for every person, but is it possible that such surrender could be the gateway to life without regret? The procession was one of beauty, civility at its finest, but it was obvious that sorrow plagued the masses. I, being a Montague, was not invited to witness this miserable splendour but I was determined to in attendance, to see for myself that this death really was an irreversible one. All it took was the subtle click of a lock to make me realize that we were all doomed.

It is possible that my depression will claim me soon, so I will not lie and have you wait for me. Be warned that I may not return again. I'm sorry.

Benvolio Montague


	5. July 13th

Thursday, July, 13th 1347 – Afternoon

Though I specifically instructed you not to lay in restless wait for me at our last meeting, I must contradict that order by returning to you once more. I must document the finale of these events and the conclusion to my life for fear that no one else will. Words written in the hand of a dead man have proved to be more convincing than those written by one whose heart still beats. You see I intend to tell the story of those, like you, who were once oblivious. I am here to warn you. I am here to keep you from repeating the mistakes of those I once loved and the mistakes I made myself. You may, however, be certain this is the last you'll ever hear of Benvolio Montague.

Romeo is dead, slain by forbidden love and by unjustified hate. Though he was not truly murdered it would easy for one to poetically declare it so. Romeo suffered through a feud he had no part in. This quarrel had no apparent beginning, yet it was clear the conflict had spurred in a time long before my cousin's and, because of this, should not have been able to beat him with as much ferocity as it did. Before his death brought end to this fruitless battle, it had taken everything from him. He had been banished, deprived of his secret wife and, though he may not have known it so, slandered relentlessly among the people he had left behind. He is dead now and it is because of me.

I should have been more vigilant in the time after Juliet's funeral. I should have kept my eyes on Balthazar. I should not have retreated from my duties as a high-ranking Montague. The time where I was most needed was the time I chose to rebel and, because of this, I now bear the weight of my cousin's death. You see, as my Romeo's servant, Balthazar had been watching Juliet, ensuring that she remained faithful, ensuring that she remained well. With the news of her death, the poor boy believed himself to be responsible for delivering the grim news to his master and, with that in mind, had set off immediately for Mantua. He might have been ignorant for acting with such haste, but his will to find Romeo certainly proved his devotion whereas my actions have proved nothing. Balthazar cannot be blamed for what has happened for he acted as he was instructed to while I, a man as I've been called, have acted as a child might.

Regardless, it was only a matter of hours before Romeo returned, a confused and vaguely frightened Balthazar in tow, and from there only minutes until his death. However my cousin did not die peacefully. Oh no, he caused chaos right until the very end. As its been told, my Romeo killed the County Paris before even entering the Capulet's vault. Oh! If I had only just kept watch over Balthazar! If only I had stopped him! Because of me, because of my lack of thought, so many now lay dead.

Once inside, Romeo had seen his beautiful lady, slightly shielded from the stone ceilings by thin shroud and, though coloured with suggestion of life, stiff and breathless with death. He had been heartbroken, as though the sight of Juliet lying there so obviously dead had been a literal sword to the vital organ buried inside of him. Somewhere during his time in Mantua, Romeo had obtained a poison and that sight, his irretrievable Juliet resting still without a pulse, had him drawing the deadly vile from his pocket. He killed himself moments later, allowing fate to play with him no more. If ever there was anything my cousin wanted for his life it was to be with Juliet for the rest of eternity and that was what he believed he was trading his breath for upon swallowing the last drop of his toxic drink.

However, there is another twist to this tale of mine, one that threatens to pour salt on this already existing wound. Juliet, you see, was not truly dead to begin with, for she had indulged in a potion to make it seem that way. The Friar had given it to her, providing her an escape from her admittedly forced marriage to Paris as well as the freedom to join Romeo in Mantua at her earliest convenience. Of course, by this point you already know that the latter of those two hopeful outcomes is impossible and the former, no longer relevant. Juliet's awakening was undoubtedly unsatisfactory as, the instant she awoke, she was greeted with the sight of a very frantic Friar and her freshly deceased husband. Upon sighting the collapsed Romeo, Juliet refused to move and the Friar was forced to leave her; the watchmen had been called and they were swiftly approaching. It was not long after the Friar had disappeared from her sight and the watchmen's voices has increased obviously in proximity before Juliet, too, put an end to her life. With no poison left, the desperate young woman had resorted to her beloved's dagger and with that she had stabbed herself through the heart.

The Friar had woven this tale for the whole of Verona, which, at the time, had been ready to succumb to the pressures of uncertainty and fall to insanity. There is no way to be definite that all he said was fact but the events that have been proven all add up to those in his account of the proceedings. His words, combined with the deaths of Romeo and Juliet, are the reason the Capulets and Montagues have since reconciled, bettering themselves by surrendering their hatred. I cannot say the same for myself, however. Regret burns relentlessly in my gut, vying with my instincts to take control of my body. I no longer care. I no longer have want or need to remain here, in Verona or on this earth. I seek relief and I know that it must be waiting somewhere for me, I simply must take the leap necessary to find it.

As I've said before, you won't be bothered by me anymore. I will follow Romeo and Juliet in their quest to find a realm where they may be together in peace and where I may be freed of my guilt. I know I will not miss anything from this life for all that has ever mattered is already gone. Perhaps my good friend Mercutio will be waiting for me in heaven, along with my gentle cousin and his bride, and there they will share the secret meaning of life with me and then, together, we will laugh for ever having desired it.

I wish you the best, I really do.

Benvolio Montague


End file.
